Tremble
by HikaKiti
Summary: He never thought he'd feel so much. And just because someone said "brilliant". SPOILERS JOHNLOCK and ANGST Prompt on tumblr.


_**A/N: **__Angst angst angst._

_EVERYTHING I TOUCH TURNS TO ANGST!_

_Um, Spoiler Alert._

_Another of my 30 Day Challenge prompts. You guys should really follow me on tumblr._

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**Tremble -**

He sweeps around the corner, half-expecting the usual flutter of his long coat before he remembers that he discarded that, along with everything else that was his. He's running, and at least that's something he's used to. He gains on the person he's chasing.

And then he's upon the man, tackling him into the ground with a grunt. There's a brief struggle before a swift elbow to the temple sends the man unconscious. "Sleep tight." The chaser mutters as he pulls a roll of duct tape from around his wrist. He's got two, one around each wrist as if they're jewelry, and he wraps arms and ankles and finally puts a strip over the man's mouth, shoulders relaxing slightly as he does so. The final step of this capture method – one hes used twice before – is the sharpie. He quickly scribbles "MORIARTY" across the man's face and then leaves, hurrying off down the alley.

He smiles smugly and strolls down the alley and out onto a different road, immediately slipping out of sight in the crowd of people. Sherlock Holmes is no longer recognizable, what with those black curls dyed blonde. He's wearing a pair of brown slacks and a plain white shirt, and if you hadn't known him personally you would not give him a second glance. None of the people do.

"Fantastic, isn't it?"

"Absolutely brilliant."

Sherlock freezes, and the smirk on his lips is gone in an instant. _No. _He thinks, panicking as he turns around.

Then the feeling that filled him when he heard those words goes away, because _he's _not there, it's just two excited teen girls fawning over some clothes in a shop window.

He feels cold, quite suddenly. He shivers involuntarily and his knees shake. _Oh... _his lips are shaking, too, now, and he doesn't understand, he doesn't understand. Then it gets even worse and the thoughts that always swirl in his head like fall leave stop and fall dead. He's not thinking – and that scares him. He shoves people out of his way and ducks into the awning of the building he's staying in for the night, falling to his knees halfway up the stairs to his room. He's shaking quite a bit now, with not a clue why.

The only thought that comes to him now is one of fuzzy jumpers and hot tea; of blue eyes rolling in annoyed amusement; of "brilliant"s and "fantastic"s and "_You're _brilliant"s and "_You're _fantastic"s ; and he can't seem to make his brain focus on anything but those. "John." he breathes, speaking to no one and everyone. "John..."

And he must get to his room. Anyone catching him like this.. they'd ask questions... they'd ruin his carefully laid plan.

"John." he mutters again as the door shuts behind him. He's furious as his legs tremble and he slumps down again. Has he been drugged? Is this why he can't... he can't process why there's...

He's crying. He reaches a hand up and brushes his long fingers over his angelic cheekbones, shocked when they come away wet. He realizes that he cared too much.

He can't bring himself to stand, because he's trembling, and this is so stupid and out of character for him because he is a _sociopath. _He doesn't care _because he doesn't want to. _

But then _John _came and then it was _different _and suddenly he does _care._ If he didn't care, then he wouldn't be here – a supposedly dead man who is, instead of lying peacefully in his grave – running around this country and the next after insects that were all in Moriarty's web.

He realizes, as he pulls the sheets up on him after flopping in his bed, that it wasn't _Moriarty _who burned his heart – it was John. _John _managed to get inside and melt away all his carefully laid ice that had been untouched for God knows how long.

As he trembles, and hates this mind of his that remembers _everything,_ he can't bring himself to reach into his Mind Palace and delete the information that would once have been useless but he now hold on to like its his only string to life.

_John. _He thinks, and closes his eyes, long dark lashes that no longer match his hair brushing his cheeks. _I'm coming home soon._


End file.
